


hope will put the colors in the sky

by monroeslittle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, First Time, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monroeslittle/pseuds/monroeslittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The story she fed her parents about spending the night with Shireen, the twenty pounds on cab fare into town, and the incessant whining from Micah were all totally worth it. This is going to be the best  night ever." modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hope will put the colors in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt to post a fic to AO3, and I apologize for any formatting problems that might crop up or any newbie mistakes I might make! And this is my first legitimate fic for this fandom--all I've written thus far are little ficlets on tumblr--be gentle with me! I should also warn you that the only things I know about British slang and the like come from a single semester studying in England; I apologize for any Americanisms that slip through! I tried my best. The title and lyrics are from Matt Nathanson's "Love Comes Tumbling Down." :)

_Cities made of stone, sinking in the flood,  
All the people wait around to rust.  
All the stars above our heads,  
The faster they came, the faster they went.  
All the stars, we lose ourselves._  
  
\---  
  
The pub is dark and crowded, and Arya grins.  
  
"I don't think this is a good idea," Micah murmurs, touching her arm with his beefy hand.  
  
She shrugs him off. This place is fucking fantastic, and she isn't about to let Micah ruin her night.  
  
The walls are papered with band posters and beer ads, the floor is sticky under her trainers, and she can barely hear the stupid American band playing over the drunken laughter and the curses thrown at the televisions. It's mostly guys hanging around, she realizes, their eyes on the game, Chelsea versus Barcelona, but she spies girls, too, and she fits in. Micah can leave, but Arya isn't about to.  
  
She smirks and weaves her way to the bar. "The cheapest lager you've got," she says.  
  
The guy nods, and he glances at her tits while he pours. She grins to herself and fishes out a few pounds. The beer splashes against her fingers when he hands her the pint. The stuff takes like shit.  
  
But anything is better than sangria at the stupid parties her mother hosts. "Cheers."  
  
Micah stutters that he'll have some cider, please, and Arya tries not to roll her eyes.  
  
The guy at the bar next to her mutters under his breath about Messi.  
  
"Don't like Messi?" she asks. She isn't about to spend the whole night talking with Micah.  
  
The stranger glances at her. "Do you?" he asks.  
  
"Nah, guy's a cunt," she says, grinning.  
  
The man snorts, but he nods, too, and he lifts his glass to tap with hers. He looks fit, she thinks, with dark hair and bright eyes, stubble on his cheek and tattoos peaking out from under his shirt sleeves, and he must be as old as Robb, Jon, and Theon. "Are you rooting for Chelsea?" she asks.  
  
He nods. "Don't know why," he grunts. "They're fucking awful."  
  
"Actually, that'd be football," she says. He raises his eyebrows. "It's fucking awful," she adds.  
  
He smirks, and his eyes return to the television, but she grins to herself. The story she fed her parents about spending the night with Shireen, the twenty pounds on cab fare into town, and the incessant whining from Micah were all totally worth it. This is going to be the best fucking night.  
  
\---  
  
Her guy leaves the bar, but he forgets his jacket, and she sees the lighter in his hand.  
  
She hops to her feet. "Where are you going?" Micah demands, cider foam on his upper lip.  
  
"To bum a smoke," she says. " _Relax_ , yeah?"  
  
She finds him leaning against the wall, calmly smoking.  
  
"Bum a smoke from you?" she asks, trying not to sound posh.  
  
He looks over at her and pushes off the wall, pulling the pack from his pocket. "Can you roll it yourself?" he asks, and she shakes her head. Theon never rolls his. But her guy nods, and she watches as he lines tobacco neatly onto the thin paper and makes the cigarette with nimble fingers.  
  
He licks the paper to seal it, his eyes on hers, and he holds the rolled cigarette out.  
  
"Cheers," she says, and she leans forward to let him light it.  
  
He smells like cigarette smoke and soap and boy, and she smiles.  
  
A moment later, she coughs. Fuck.  
  
He grins at her, though, dimples in his cheeks. "Don't suck on it," he says. "Breathe in, hold it, and breathe out." She takes a deep breath, smoke fills her lungs, and she waits. "That's it. Breathe out."  
  
She breathes out, and the smoke spills from her mouth.  
  
"What's your name?" he asks.  
  
She breathes in, holds it, breathes out. "Arya."  
  
"And how old are you, Arya?"  
  
She bites her lip. "Old enough."  
  
He looks amused, and she wants to be offended, but she needs to play everything cool. She isn't the annoying kid tagging along with her older brothers, and she isn't stuffed into some stupid society dress, either. She looks good, and she feels good. "I'm nineteen," she says. "How's that?"  
  
He snorts. "Sure."  
  
She rolls her eyes and stubs out her cigarette. "Whatever. Thanks for the smoke."  
  
She stalks into the pub, buys another drink, and befriends the girls at the booth against the far wall; they're cool, and they're drunk, and they convince guys to buy them every drink they want. But Micah looks like he might have a fit, and Arya agrees to leave with him after her third drink. She feels tipsy, and the girls kiss her cheek wetly and slap her arse as she leaves, making her laugh.  
  
She doesn't realize until later, lying in bed beside Shireen, that she didn't find out his name.  
  
Stupid wanker, she thinks, and she resolves to forget about it.  
  
\---  
  
She doesn't, of course, and she finds the guy two nights later, sitting on the very same stool.  
  
It's Gendry, she learns. And, three days after that, she discovers that he works at the auto shop behind the bakery that her mum loves, he doesn't like Guinness, and he is allergic to cats. He tries to teach her how to roll her own cigarette, and he laughs his stupid arse off at her failed attempts.  
  
She shoves him and stomps away, embarrassed.  
  
A few days later, she tells her mother that she is in a maths study group with Shireen. "And we like to have ice cream after we finish," she says. She sells it. Her mother smiles, kisses Arya on the forehead, and tells her that she is allowed to stay out with her study group friends until midnight.  
  
Her mother has more important stuff to worry about, after all.  
  
"She'll figure it out at some point," Shireen says, always annoyingly sensible.  
  
Arya shrugs. "I'll deal with that at some point," she replies. Shireen sighs, shaking her head, but she doesn't say another word about it. Arya finishes changing into skinny jeans, puts on the eyeliner that her mother hates, and walks to the nearest metro stop. It's twenty minutes to the pub.  
  
"A pint for Arya, Tom," Gendry says.  
  
She grins and slips onto a stool. "Cheers," she tells Tom.  
  
\---  
  
She is drunk on vodka and soda, and she giggles madly as she falls off her stool, only for Gendry to catch her. He hoists her to her feet, and she pokes his arm. "Gendry," she says, "you're strong."  
  
"And you're drunk," he replies, gruff.  
  
She laughs. "And I like it!" she declares. It's easy, being drunk. She feels easy. Not that kind, though. She giggles to herself, looks at Gendry, and doubles over on the bar. She can't breathe.  
  
She wipes tears from her eyes. Oh, no. "Do I look like a raccoon?" she asks.  
  
Gendry frowns, and he looks funny. She starts to giggle, unable to help herself.  
  
"I'm glad you find yourself hilarious," Gendry tells her.  
  
She _is_ hilarious, isn't she? And she really, really loves vodka and soda. She starts to laugh.  
  
"She is _totally_ wankered," Hot Pie declares, and Arya pushes him off his stool.  
  
\---  
  
Her mum comes into the kitchen and roots through the fridge for something, or writes something on the grocery list, or something; Arya isn't really paying attention. She frowns at the kitchen telly.  
  
She doesn't know why she watches this stupid show.  
  
"So," her mother says, "how's your study group for maths?"  
  
Arya tears her eyes away from the telly to see her mum smiling brightly at her. "It's fine," Arya says. She looks at her nails. They're ready for the second coat, she thinks. She unscrews the bottle.  
  
Her mum nods. "Who else is in it?" she asks. "It's you, and there's Shireen Baratheon, and . . . ?"  
  
Arya swipes the polish against her knuckle, startled. "Nobody you know," she says, evasive.  
  
"Well, why don't you tell me about them?" her mother persists, smiling at Arya with fond exasperation. Arya starts to invent people in her head, but she is saved the effort when the nurse appears to fetch Mrs. Stark. Her mother looks at the small, thin woman for a moment, sighs, and turns to Arya with a tight smile. "How about we talk more at dinner, sweetheart?" she asks.  
  
Arya smiles tightly, too, nodding. "Sure, Mum."  
  
Her mother disappears with the nurse, and Arya finishes her nails.  
  
\---  
  
The girl is a proper slut.  
  
Bright red lipstick, tits straining against her shirt, giggling every other word, and she won't stop touching Gendry, his arm and his shoulder and his leg. Arya grits her teeth, and Tom smirks when he slides her another beer. Arya isn't going to sit around and watch Gendry flirt with the slut. She nicks his tobacco from his jacket pocket, and she slips outside. It's muggy and hot, and she rolls the cigarette herself, only to curse under her breath when she realizes that she forgot to steal his lighter.  
  
"Here," he says, coming from the pub. She leans forward, and he lights the cigarette in her mouth.  
  
She smokes for a moment, leaning against the wall. "Are you gonna shag that girl?" she asks.  
  
"What?" he says, startled. "Are you taking the piss?"  
  
She looks at him. "The girl with the massive tits," she says. "Are you gonna shag her?"  
  
"No," he says, looking at her as though she were mental, "she's not my type."  
  
Arya drops her cigarette, fists her hand in his shirt, and corners him against the wall.  
  
"Kiss me," she demands. He starts to say something, and she isn't interested. She rocks up on her heels and presses her mouth to his. She isn't sure what to do, isn't sure how to kiss, but she moves her lips against his, and his hands are suddenly on his waist as he leans into the kiss, as he opens his mouth against hers, as he kisses her. She tries to follow his lead, but he draws away from her.  
  
He stares at her.  
  
And she is mortified, because that was horrible, wasn't it?  
  
Her first kiss, and she attacked him. She starts to stumble away, but he doesn't let her, and his lips slant over hers as he gathers her against him, swings her around, and presses her against the wall.  
  
His tongue delves into her mouth, and she gasps, fingers digging into his shoulders for purchase.  
  
He tastes like beer, and the warmth pools in her belly, and she shudders when his hands grasp her arse and drag her closer to him. Her head knocks against the bricks, and the pain is sharp, but he hoists her higher to let her legs wrap around his waist. He starts to press hot, wet kisses along her throat, and her hands curl into his thick hair as she takes ragged breaths, but she wants to kiss him.  
  
She tugs on his hair, and he tilts his head, finds her mouth, kisses her.  
  
A car backfires, and Gendry whips his head away at the sound.  
  
The world comes into focus. Her head throbs, and she can hear the neon pub sign buzz, and she remembers where they are. She wipes the spit from her mouth as Gendry sets her on her feet.  
  
He runs his hand through his hair, and she adjusts her shirt.  
  
"I'm not gonna shag that girl," he says.  
  
She nods. "Good."  
  
\---  
  
A few nights later, right after dinner, she tucks the pen into her pocket.  
  
And, before she leaves the pub, she presses against Gendry, grabs his hands, and writes her number on his palm. "Because you don't have the balls to ask," she says, her nose brushing his ear.  
  
He phones the very next night. "Tell me that you're legal," he says. "I gotta know, Arya."  
  
She bites her lip. "I'm seventeen," she lies, "but I'll be eighteen in three months." He doesn't respond, and she hates the silence. She grips her mobile with white knuckles. "Say something."  
  
"Do you fancy dinner tomorrow night?" he asks.  
  
\---  
  
She meets him at the pizza place, and she tells him stories about growing up with Jon.  
  
But she doesn't really like to talk about her family, and she eats his crusts as she change the subject; it's easy, eating out with him, as though it isn't any different from nights at the pub, except Tom doesn't hear everything they say to each other, and Hot Pie never drunkenly interrupts them, either.  
  
They finish, though, and he asks her what she wants to do.  
  
An hour later, they're at the pub, and Tom grins lecherously at Arya. "Have fun on your date?"  
  
"Have fun pouring me beer?" Arya asks.  
  
Gendry teaches her how to play flip cup at the bar, with unhelpful commentary from Hot Pie and the usual gang, and he walks her to the metro stop. He is almost hesitant, and she smirks, bites her lip, and waits. The kiss is sudden, almost knocking her off her feet, but she curls into him and smiles.  
  
As she sits on the metro, she touches her swollen lips, and she grins at nobody.  
  
\---  
  
She is on her way to her room, but his door is open, and she stops. "Hey."  
  
Bran glances up from his book, smiling when he sees her. "Hey. You alright?"  
  
She nods. "What're you reading?"  
  
"The Two Towers," he says, holding the book up for her to see.  
  
She raises her eyebrows at him. "Again?" He tries to toss an empty crisps bag at her, but the thing only floats to the ground beside the bed, making them both laugh at the same moment. She bites her lip, leaning against the doorframe and looking at her nails for a minute. "So I met a guy," she tells him.  
  
"A guy?" Bran repeats, smirking. "Huh. Arya with a guy. Well, is he cool?"  
  
She shrugs. "Yeah. He's alright. He's _obsessed_ with Chelsea."  
  
Bran grins. "Sounds like a quality human being," he says. She nods.  
  
It's quiet. "Hey, um, don't tell anybody. I don't want the family grilling me about him, yeah?"  
  
"No worries," he says, smiling. "Secret's safe with me."  
  
\---  
  
Gendry texts her that Hot Pie found the video on YouTube.  
  
She rolls her eyes, and she shoves Hot Pie off his stool that night when he tries to imitate her. She isn't ashamed, though; she might not have liked everything her mother forced her to do, not her piano lessons, nor the charity society balls she was forced to learn ballroom etiquette for, but she loved the modern dance classes her mother signed her up for. She chugs her beer, stretches for a moment, and dances along to the bad boy band on the radio, schooling Hot Pie as the pub cheers.  
  
She smirks at her audience, Gendry chuckles, and the pub raises their drinks to her.  
  
Tom hands her another pint, but some bloke with white blonde hair offers to buy her next.  
  
"She isn't interested, mate," Gendry grunts, and the fellow shrugs off.  
  
Arya raises her eyebrow at him. "Who says I'm not interested in free drinks?" she asks, annoyed.  
  
"Me," he replies. "I don't need other blokes to buy my girl drinks."  
  
She stares at him for a moment as he checks the telly for the score. And she looks over at Tom, who grins knowingly at her, and at Hot Pie, who shoves peanuts into his mouth, totally oblivious.  
  
Arya leans against Gendry, and he glances away from the telly. She bites his ear and slips her hand into his pocket to snare his cigarettes. "Fancy a smoke?" she asks. She kisses him as soon as they step outside, and he palms her arse as he walks them away from the pub and into the alley beside it.  
  
She gasps into his mouth when his hands find her tits.  
  
"Is this okay?" he asks, his mouth hot against her throat.  
  
She slips her hands under his shirt, runs her hands up his stomach, and digs her fingers into his chest, feeling him up. She smirks. "An eye for an eye," she says. He shakes his head, swooping in for another kiss as he squeezes her tits. She slides her hands around to grasp his shoulders, smug.  
  
She is definitely his girl.  
  
\---  
  
"Do you want a ride home?" he asks.  
  
She shakes her head. "I can take the metro. There's a stop right where my friend Shireen lives."  
  
"I don't mind driving you," he says. "It's better than taking the metro, isn't it?"  
  
She shrugs. "I like the metro."  
  
She doesn't want him to see where Shireen lives, the big house, the wealthy neighborhood; she doesn't want him to find out that she lives in a house that is even bigger, in a neighborhood that is even wealthier. She doesn't want him to get the wrong idea about her.  
  
"Really," she insists, "don't worry about it." She leans up to kiss him  
  
\---  
  
Shireen helps Arya study for her maths exam, because they have to look after her alibi.  
  
And when she passes with flying colors, she takes pizza to the auto shop.  
  
She finds Gendry up to his elbows in an engine, nodding his head along to the oldies music on the battered stereo propped up on paint cans in the corner. He isn't wearing a shirt, which shouldn't surprise her, not with sweat beading on her own forehead from the muggy heat, but she stops to take in the view. He is coated in sweat, and Arya can look at his tattoos properly for the first time.  
  
She smirks when she sees the thorny rose; she'll have to ask him about that.  
  
She pinches his arse, laughing when he jerks away, startled, and she ducks as he tires to swat her.  
  
"Brought pizza to celebrate," she says, holding out the box.  
  
He wipes his hands on his trousers. "To celebrate what?"  
  
"Me," she replies, and she leans up to kiss him, short and sweet. He finds paper towels to serve as plates, and they eat on the garage floor. She doesn't know shit about cars, but she listens as he complains about the ways stupid people fuck up their engines, and she rants about Myrcella Baratheon, the absolutely mental girl in her year who is totally convinced that Arya is a lesbian.  
  
She can't believe that Shireen and Myrcella are cousins, honestly.  
  
"A lesbian, huh?" Gendry asks, grinning. "Is it the short hair or the butch boots?"  
  
She tries to punch him, but he catches her wrist, laughing, and tugs her to him. She starts to protest, annoyed at his amusement, but he kisses her. "It's totally the hair," he says, and she bites his lip. He grins against her mouth, and she wants to shove him; instead, she straddles his hips.  
  
"Stupid," she mutters, and she bites his tongue.  
  
His must decide to escape her teeth, because he starts pressing kisses along her jaw and her throat, and she forgives him when he sucks on her pulse point. She ends up sprawled beneath him, her hands running greedily over his exposed skin. "Any bloke ever make you come, Arya?" he asks.  
  
"What?" she mutters, arching arches against him, warm and needy.  
  
His hand slides down her stomach and slips between her legs. Her breath catches.  
  
"Are you okay?" he asks, and she hates that he asks that, as though she is some stupid kid.  
  
She surges forward to kiss him.  
  
After a moment, his hand moves under her shirt, pushing past her bra, rubbing her breast, and his other hand unzips her jeans, is under her knickers, and she shudders when his finger slips into her.  
  
His eyes hold hers as he starts to pump his finger into her. This isn't like her failed attempts to finger herself, and she thinks she might lose it. Her hands grapple for purchase on _something_ as the warmth and the wanting build and build; she settles for digging her fingers into his sweaty shoulders.  
  
He curls his finger, and he ducks his head suddenly, rubbing one tit and pressing his mouth to the other, soaking through her cotton tank, biting lightly, tearing the whimper from her. She wants to cry from the feeling, from the frustration; her hands find his hair, nails scrapping his scalp, and she arches against him, tugging his hair with tight fists as the pleasure spirals sharply through her.  
  
She stares at the auto shop ceiling for a moment, panting, before she starts to grin.  
  
"That," she declares, "was fucking fantastic."  
  
Gendry pulls his hand out. "Glad you think so," he tells her. He zips her jeans and snaps the button closed. She can feel his smug, satisfied smile when he kisses her, and she smacks his stomach.  
  
\---  
  
School lets out.  
  
Her mother asks her what she wants to do with her summer, but "hang around with my mates" isn't sufficient, and Arya finds herself signed up for some stupid summer theatre program. She rants and raves to Gendry about it. His response is to ask when the first performance is. He needs to be in the front row, after all. She kicks him. He most certainly will not be anywhere _near_ it.  
  
A week into summer, Shireen drops her off at the auto shop, and Gendry takes her out to the movies. She picks the old horror movie at the pound theatre, sneaks in chocolate sauce to pour over the popcorn, and, as they leave the theatre, texts Shireen to say that she intends to spend the night with Gendry. _Cover for me_ , she writes, and she turns off the mobile before Shireen can reply.  
  
"Okay," Gendry says, starting up his car, "where to?"  
  
Arya buckles her seat belt and shifts to prop her feet on the dashboard. "To yours, yeah?"  
  
He looks over at her, and she flips on the radio. His awful music blasts. She changes it.  
  
\---  
  
His building isn't far from the auto shop; it's only a few streets over, in fact.  
  
The lift isn't working, he says, and hasn't ever, and they hike the three flights to his flat.  
  
And it's pretty much the coolest place ever, way better than the awful flat in London her parents bought Robb. The kitchen is along the far wall, the bed is tucked into an alcove, and the shower is blocked off in the corner; it smells overwhelming like Gendry, and everything is a mess. Arya stifles her laughter as he grabs clothes and empty food cartons off the floor to try to hide the chaos.  
  
He kicks an empty beer can under the coach, and he flips on the telly. To football. _Stupid_.  
  
He rubs his neck. "Want something to drink?" he asks.  
  
"About as much as I want to watch football," Arya replies.  
  
He smirks, and she runs her hands up his sides, forcing him to raise his arms, letting her pull off his shirt. "Don't you want to hang out with me?" he asks, smug, and she kisses him as his hands slip into her back pockets to squeeze her arse. "Don't you want to spend the night talking and shit?"  
  
She bites his lip. "Nope," she says, walking backwards towards the bed and pulling him with her.  
  
"I am not your slut, Arya Stark," he replies, and he hoists her up, making her laugh as she balances herself with her hands on his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his waist. Her laughter is muffled in his kiss as he takes the last few steps to the bed, dropping her. She tears off her shirt, and he crawls after her onto the bed, his kisses playful. She lifts her hips off the bed, and he tugs off her jeans, kissing the exposed skin at her ankle, at her calf, at her knee, working his way up.  
  
She scratches his shoulders as his fingers find their way under her knickers; she arches off the bed.  
  
It's terrifying for a moment, exhilarating and terrifying, when he slips off her knickers, and she wonders suddenly how many girls have sprawled across his bed and spread their legs, but his eyes are bright as he smiles at her, and his breath is hot against her, and he thrusts his tongue into her.  
  
She gasps, clutching the sheets as he sucks and licks and bites, and she loses herself when his hand slides up her stomach and finds her breast; she comes apart against his mouth, breathing his name. She is panting when he rises to his knees, and she can feel his smile when he kisses her.  
  
Her hands fumble with his belt buckle, and she tears off his trousers, his boxers next.  
  
She stares, and her eyes flicker up to his. "It looks alarmed," she says, feeling the urge to laugh.  
  
It looks weird, she thinks, super fucking weird.  
  
He moves up the bed, and his cock bounces, and she presses her knuckles into her mouth to stop the laughter. It doesn't really work. "I'm sorry," she breathes, and the way he stares at her makes her heart seize. "I haven't done this," she says suddenly, flushing at the confession. "I've never —"  
  
"I figured," Gendry says, smiling, something soft in his eyes. "And we stop when you say, yeah?"  
  
She nods. "I don't want to stop." She stares at it. His cock. She bites her lip.  
  
"You can touch it," he says. "I'm pretty sure you're more likely to bite than my cock is."  
  
She rolls her eyes, and he bends to kiss her, soft and sweet.  
  
He waits, and she reaches out, hesitant, to wrap her hand around his cock. The skin is warm, softer than she expected, and she looks at him. He smiles, and he doesn't protest when she starts to explore, her fingers trembling against the hot flesh, and she breathes the words. "What do I do?"  
  
She watches his thumb brush over the head, spreading the liquid that beads at the top. His hand covers hers, and he slides her hand up, tightening her grip under his.  
  
She elbows him slightly, knocking off his hand. She can do it.  
  
His jaw is locked, and his left hand fists into the sheets beside her hip. She grins, catching his eye.  
  
He kisses her, murmuring something about her being too smug.  
  
She laughs as his hands tug on her bra straps, but she cries out when he bites her tit, his mouth hot and wet on her skin, and she feels the edge start to build inside her, the tantalizing, awful, wonderful edge. Her hands are fisted in his hair as he settles between her legs. His cock brushes against her; she feels the shock shoot up her spin at the touch. "Arya," he breathes, licking his way from her breasts to her throat.  
  
"I want to," she says, and his hand digs into her waist.  
  
He rolls off her, though, and she starts to protest, only to realize what it's about. He looks ridiculous for a moment, hanging off the bed as he searches for it, but he returns in the next moment, condom package in hand. He tears it, and she watches as he rolls the condom on.  
  
He moves between her legs.  
  
She wraps her arms around his shoulders, trying to position herself.  
  
He bends her knees. "Any time," he tells her, voice strained, "say it, and we stop, okay? Just —"  
  
"I get it, Stupid," she says, and she surges up, feels him start to slip into her.  
  
He kisses her, stealing her breath, before he twists, biting her shoulder and thrusting forward.  
  
She lets out a strange, strangled noise at the sharp, pinched pain, and the pressure makes tears bead in her eyes, but Gendry is licking and sucking the bite on her shoulder, and she tries to focus on that. She makes her hands loosen on his shoulders, and she doesn't know whether her nails drew blood or whether her hands are simply slick with sweat. She slides her hands to touch his face.  
  
"Kiss me."  
  
He tilts his head to obey, and his kiss is sweet and soft.  
  
She shifts, hissing a little at the pain. "Do something," she tells him. "Move, or —"  
  
He moves. He pulls out, and his hands slide down her legs, pressing her knees against her stomach as he slides in; the pain isn't as sharp this time. He wraps her legs around his waist, and he slides out. She tries to copy his movements, to rock forward as he thrusts in, but she can't catch the rhythm. He stops, and he kisses her. "Move," he whispers, and she pushes her hips forward, brings him into her, her ankles digging into his arse. He starts to thrust, too, matching her stride.  
  
It doesn't hurt as much, she thinks, dazed.  
  
His hand slides between them, moving over her breasts, and she whimpers when he flicks her nipple, but his hand is already ghosting against her stomach, only to grasp hers suddenly, and he guides her hand between them so that she can feel him sliding into her. Her heart pounds against her chest, and she kisses him sloppily. The pain was lost somewhere along the way, she realizes, replaced with the slow, frustrating burn. His thrusts are jerkier, though, faster, harder. She likes it.  
  
She grasps his shoulders, losing the rhythm, but he continues to pound into her.  
  
His hand is between them, and he pinches her clit, making the burn sharpen. The orgasm sweeps through her suddenly, and she cries his name as she arches against him, unable to keep her eyes open, head smacking against the wall as she comes. His skin slaps against hers, and she sucks on his tongue, tries to help him, feels his whole body clench when he finally comes inside her.  
  
She feels melty and strange and good. She had sex.  
  
She watches him roll off the condom, tying it, tossing it.  
  
And he turns to her, slips his hand under her head, and pulls her close to kiss her lazily.  
  
She smiles.  
  
\---  
  
He finds crisps, and they eat in the bed, sharing his last beer between them.  
  
"Are you feeling okay?" Gendry asks.  
  
She kicks him under the sheets. "Stop asking me that," she says. "I'm fucking fine."  
  
It's making her self-conscious.  
  
"Just making sure," he says, "that's all."  
  
"Why?" she asks, licking crisp crumbs from her lips. "Don't usually shag virgins, do you?"  
  
He looks annoyed. "Arya," he says, as though he were talking to some petulant kid.  
  
"Come on, admit it," she insists.  
  
His jaw is locked. "Fine. No, I don't."  
  
"No, of course not, fit guy like you," she says, "I bet you've had all sorts in your bed, yeah? Girls with big tits, girls who know what they're doing. Girls who are way good in bed, isn't that right?"  
  
She isn't sure what she's saying, but she says it. She can't help herself.  
  
His lip curls. "Are you serious?" he says.  
  
"What's the matter?" she spits, suddenly furious. "It's true, isn't it?"  
  
And, unsettling her, his eyes soften. He leans forward and kisses her, catching her off guard. "I've had other girls in my bed, yeah," he says, "but none I liked half so well as you." Another kiss. "I like you in my bed. Suits you. I like you every way, in fact. Better than any girl I've met, got it?"  
  
He kisses her, and she responds, reaching out to hold his face in her hands.  
  
"And I don't want to scare you off," he says. "Don't be scared off."  
  
She shakes her head, and the crisps slip off the bed. "M'm not scared," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around him. He pulls her onto him, and his head hits the pillow as she moves to straddle him.  
  
"Good."  
  
\---  
  
She ghosts her fingers over the rose tattoo. "What's this about?" she asks.  
  
"It's for my mum," he admits.  
  
She is tempted to make a joke, but his voice is soft, and she bites her lip.  
  
"She died when I was little," he says. "My uncle raised me, and I don't remember much about my mum. But I remember she loved to sing. And roses. She loved roses. I remember that. It's for her."  
  
Arya leans forward and kisses the tattoo. Gendry brushes his fingers through her hair, and she slides her fingers to trace the words that top his ribs and circle under his arm. "What about this?"  
  
"They're lyrics."  
  
She makes him roll over, and she reads them. "I've been the beggar, played the thief; I was the dog, they all tried to beat." She propped her chin on her arm, her fingers absently tracing each black letter.  
  
"Fighting words," she says.  
  
His lip twitches. "I thought so," he says. "I fucked up a lot as a kid, but I'm still around."  
  
She smiles when she spies the bull on his neck. She brushes her fingers over it. "And this one?"  
  
"I like bulls," he says.  
  
She raises her eyebrows. "That's it?"  
  
He tucks her hair behind her ear. "What do I look like? A fucking poet?"  
  
She snorts, but she leans forward to kiss the tat. "It's my favorite," she declares. She nips the skin.  
  
He cups her cheek. "Mine, too," he says.  
  
And she doesn't ask about the other tattoos, too busy kissing him.  
  
\---  
  
The telly is on when she wakes, the bed cold beside her, and she sits up, rubbing her eyes, to see Gendry puttering around the kitchen, eyes on the telly. She grins at the sight. He is wearing nothing but his boxers, and he is making pancakes. "Are you treating me to breakfast in bed?"  
  
"Nope," he says. "Move your arse."  
  
She stretches her arms over her head and kicks away the sheets. She is sore, but she smiles at the thought as she pulls on her knickers and starts to search out her clothes. She uses the toilet, and she turns on her mobile as she sits beside Gendry. He sprinkles sugar over her pancake, and she takes the sugar jar from him and dumps the right amount on. Her phone beeps furiously at her.  
  
Five texts, three missed calls, and two messages, all from Shireen.  
  
Arya rings her.  
  
"Are you kidding me, Arya Stark?" Shireen answers, shrill.  
  
"Good morning, Shireen," Arya replies. "How was your night?"  
  
"I can't believe you didn't call your mum yourself," Shireen rants. "She rang the house when you didn't come home, and I almost tackled my father to reach the phone before he could. Do you have any idea how much trouble we would've been in? Where were you? Where are you? I told your mother that you were feeling sick, and you wanted to spend the night. She was fine with it, but —"  
  
Arya tears into her pancake. "Shireen, remember to breathe. Deep breath in, deep breath out."  
  
Shireen lets out a strangled sound. "Are you listening to me?" she exclaims.  
  
"I am," Arya says, "pinky promise. I'm sorry I didn't call my mum, okay? I forgot. To be honest, I'm surprised that she noticed. But I promise I won't let you take the heat, yeah? And I'll play sick."  
  
It's quiet. "Arya, your mum isn't totally oblivious to you. Your dad isn't, either."  
  
"Whatever," Arya says. "Any big plans for tonight, or do you want to meet my boyfriend?"  
  
\---  
  
Arya heads home, and her father feels her forehead. "Do you feel any better?" he asks.  
  
"Much," she says, smiling.  
  
He tells her to check with the nurse. "Better safe than sorry," he says. "She won't mind."  
  
Arya nods, but she isn't about to talk with that awful nurse. She escapes to her room, and she showers. Afterward, wiping the steam from the mirror, she looks at herself. She smiles, and she starts to laugh, and she thinks she might be mental. She doesn't care. She blasts music on her laptop as she dresses, and she ignores Sansa when her sister shouts at her. She texts Gendry.  
  
He is at work, but he tells her to stop over for lunch.  
  
She picks up sandwiches for them, and Gendry smudges grease on her nose when he kisses her.  
  
She doesn't notice, though, until later, when some wanker at the theatre points it out.  
  
She flips him off, and she counts down the minutes until the stupid rehearsal is finished.  
  
\---  
  
She rushes down the stairs, late to meet Shireen.  
  
"I'm taking the Chevy!" she shouts, grabbing the keys off the counter.  
  
But she rounds the corner and barrels into someone. "Hey! Where's the fire, kid?" It's Robb.  
  
She stares, startled. "What're you doing at home?"  
  
He laughs. "It's good to see you, too, Arya. I needed Dad to sign some things, and I thought I could visit everybody while I was at it. Are you heading off? I thought we could catch up. I mean, Mum says you're doing some community theatre thing. Is that true?" He grins, clearly amused.  
  
"She signed me up for it," Arya replies, rolling her eyes. Robb chuckles. "But I am heading out."  
  
He tries to say something else, but she leans up, pecks his cheek, and twirls past him out the door.  
  
"Arya, wait!" Robb calls out, laughter bewildered. "I promised Bran I would teach him how to play poker. I can teach you, too. Come on. It'll be fun. Hang out with your mates another night!"  
  
She waves, and she hops into the car. She isn't really up for family bonding night.  
  
\---  
  
"What happened to your face?" Hot Pie asks Shireen.  
  
She pinks, smoothing her hair to hide as much as she can. Arya punches Hot Pie, and he winces, but he deserves worse. Shireen fussed over her hair and her make-up and her clothes for hours before they came to the pub, and she _always_ fusses over it, convinced the scars from her accident make her the ugliest fuck on earth. "She was in an accident, you wanker," Arya snaps at him.  
  
Gendry shouts something at the telly, because that will help Chelsea win. Good work, Gendry.  
  
"The car flipped, and the engine caught fire," Shireen murmurs, accepting the cranberry vodka from Tom. She starts to rummage through her purse to pay for the pink drink. "I was burned."  
  
Tom shakes his head. "It's on the house."  
  
Arya frowns. "It was never on the house for me," she says, annoyed. "Still isn't."  
  
"It's on the house for pretty girls," Tom corrects, winking at Shireen. She flushes.  
  
Arya scowls.  
  
But Shireen leans over, eyes on Gendry. "He is _really_ cute," she murmurs. Arya grins.  
  
\---  
  
She learns Gendry.  
  
He hates when people make him watch funny videos on YouTube. He shoots beer out his nose when you make him laugh while he drinks. He never met his dad, but the guy his mum dated in the months before she died was really cool, and he passed on his love for Chelsea football to Gendry.  
  
He loves peanuts. He snores when he sleeps on his stomach. He hates Jude Law. He isn't ticklish.  
  
He fractured his hand in a fistfight when he was fourteen. He is stubborn. He can't whistle.  
  
And Gendry learns her, too.  
  
\---  
  
Her birthday is in July.  
  
Her family heaps her presents on to the kitchen table, and they eat breakfast as she tears through them. Sansa bought her a nail polish set that Arya doesn't intend to use, no matter how many times Sansa insists that Arya wear any color besides black, and Rickon bought her pink sunglasses that she doesn't need or want, but Robb sent her the new iPod she wanted, her parents bought her enough books and movies to last the next ten years, and Jon sent her an actual Swiss army knife.  
  
It's a good haul.  
  
She tells her parents that she's spending the day with Shireen.  
  
At the auto shop, Gendry presents her with his small, square present, badly wrapped with newspaper. She grins as she tears the paper off to reveal the small, silver lighter. It flips open the way she thinks every lighter shoulder, the way she told Gendry she loves, and a wolf head is engraved on the side. She flips the lighter open and flicks the flame to life. "This is amazing," she breathes.  
  
"I saw it at the pawn shop across from my flat," Gendry explains. "Thought you'd like the wolf."  
  
She grins, and she rocks up on her heels to kiss him.  
  
The lighter will look way cool alongside her Swiss army knife.  
  
"I figured you'd need your own lighter now that you can buy your own smokes," Gendry adds.  
  
She bites her lip. Right. "About that," she says.  
  
"Oh, wait, let me guess," Gendry says, voice flat. "No, you can't buy your own smokes for the same reason you have another year left in college — because you're not actually eighteen, are you?"  
  
She huffs. "Fine, yes. I'm not eighteen. I'm seventeen. This is my seventeenth birthday."  
  
"I can't believe you lied to me!" he says, exasperated, but his lips twitch. He isn't mad.  
  
Good. He shouldn't be. She shrugs. "I needed to. It was the only way to get into your pants."  
  
He shakes his head, starting to laugh, and she surges up for another kiss.  
  
\---  
  
"Do you know how to play poker?" she asks Gendry.  
  
He nods. "I'm not great at it," he admits.  
  
"But you can teach me," she says. "Teach me! Tom, do you have any cards?"  
  
Gendry chuckles, and he takes the cards from Tom.  
  
\---  
  
Summer ends.  
  
She peaks out from behind the curtain before the show starts, and she spies Shireen, who waves. Arya can't find her family, but she isn't really surprised; they'll probably show up at the last minute.  
  
The performance is _Twelfth Night_ , Arya is Viola, and she totally kills it.  
  
It wasn't that bad, actually, doing the whole stupid summer community thing, and she exchanges mobile numbers with some other kids in the cast. As she comes out into the audience, Shireen greets her with a hug, and Mrs. Baratheon kisses Arya on the cheek. "Lovely, dear," she murmurs.  
  
"I thought your performance was excellent," Mr. Baratheon says. "But the lighting was awful."  
  
Arya nods. "Thank you, Mr. Baratheon."  
  
"And I think your director took too much creative license," he adds. "Shakespeare is meant to —"  
  
Shireen rolls her eyes behind him. "But _Arya_ was great, right, Dad?"  
  
"I already praised her performance, Shireen," Mr. Baratheon says.  
  
Arya smiles, looking around for her parents. Her heart starts to sink. She thanks Mr. and Mrs. Baratheon for coming, tells Shireen that she'll ring her later, and pulls out her phone as she walks away. A new voicemail from her father. He couldn't make it, he says. Work. But her mother is excited to come, and Arya can describe everything to her father at dinner. "I'm really, really sorry."  
  
Sure. Of course. He always is.  
  
A new voicemail from her mother. She couldn't make it, either. But she's certain Arya will do great.  
  
"My favorite part was when you elbowed the duke," Gendry says. "He looked really prepared for it." Arya grins, spinning around. "Here." He holds out flowers, pink roses wrapped in pink paper.  
  
"Are you taking the piss?" she says, raising her eyebrows at him. "Giving me pink roses?"  
  
He looks annoyed. "It's what you're supposed to do. And roses don't come in black."  
  
"I told him to spray paint them," Hot Pie says, popcorn grease on his chin. "But he didn't listen. Cool play, Arya. I don't get something, though. Was the duke gay for you when you were a dude?"  
  
Hot Pie came to the stupid play, too.  
  
Arya bites her lip, pleased despite herself, and she takes her silly pink roses. "Come on," Gendry says. "Drinks are on me." He wraps his arm around her waist, and they head for the car as Hot Pie asks more stupid questions. Her mobile starts to buzz, and she looks at the screen. It's her mother.  
  
She ignores it.  
  
\---  
  
She likes upper sixth even less than she liked lower sixth.  
  
And, suddenly, as though someone flipped a switch, the only thing adults want to talk about with Arya is uni. She avoids the talk, and she spends almost every afternoon after class with Gendry at the auto shop. He doesn't talk about uni, and she can sometimes convince him to make-out with her in the cars that he fixes. A month into school, he works late, and she orders pizza for them to eat.  
  
"Don't your parents ever wonder where you are?" Gendry asks absently. He rolls on his little scooter under the car. "I mean, like, right now. Do they know you're with me at the auto shop?"  
  
It's the first time he's ever asked about her parents. About whether they know that she's seeing him.  
  
That isn't what he asked, though, she tells herself. He asked whether or not her parents wonder where she is. "My parents have other shit to think about," she replies. He doesn't ask anything else.  
  
But when he slides out from under the car and stands, wiping his hands on a rag, she grins to herself. The shop is empty. His grizzly, old boss left. She sidles up to him. "Hey." She smirks.  
  
He looks at her, and he starts to shake his head. "I'll be finished with this axel in ten minutes."  
  
"I don't think patience is among my virtues," she replies, fingering the zipper on his stupid blue jumpsuit. She liked when he tied the top around his waist in the summer, rather than zip the suit up.  
  
He rests his hands on her hips. "And here I was thinking you were as patient as the pope."  
  
She glares playfully at him, and he kisses her. She unzips the jumpsuit.  
  
And she pulls off her own shirt, folds it, and lays it on the ground. She grins at him for a moment, and she sinks onto her knees. She likes doing this, sucking him off, likes how powerful she feels, likes how much he likes it. And she's good at it, too; she was awful the first time she tried to do it, but she wanted to practice, and Gendry wasn't about to stop her, and, well, practice makes perfect.  
  
She pulls his cock from his pants and starts to stroke him, and his hands curl into her hair.  
  
She likes when he tugs her hair, and he knows it.  
  
Afterward, she eats the crusts off the rest of the pizza. "I can't believe you don't like crusts!"  
  
He kisses her temple, and he eats the crustless slices she leaves behind.  
  
\---  
  
Sansa is in a fight with Harry.  
  
Arya doesn't like Harry. He thinks he is the best thing since sliced bread, and Arya is positive her sister could do better than a dick like him. But Harry is super pretty, the heir to a huge fortune, and he makes her sister swoon, which means no one is about to listen to what Arya thinks about him.  
  
But Sansa is at uni, _finally_ , and Arya doesn't have to hear about Harry every other second.  
  
Or, at least, she doesn't until Sansa comes home for the weekend because she is positive that Harry is about to split up with her, and she doesn't want her roommate to see her cry the entire weekend.  
  
It's the stupidest thing ever, honestly.  
  
"I think _you_ should split up with _him_ ," Arya tells her.  
  
Sansa glowers at her. "I don't care what you think," she says. "It's not a secret that you hate Harry, but, you know what, Arya, you don't know anything about boys, or about relationships, and —"  
  
"I don't need to know much to know that Harry is an arse," Arya cuts in.  
  
Her mother sniffs. "Language, Arya," she warns.  
  
"Sorry, Mum. I don't need to know much to know that Harry is a butthead. How's that?"  
  
Her mother looks pained, reaching for her wine without a word.  
  
"He is my boyfriend, Arya! I _love_ him, and I'm not about to let you — stop laughing!"  
  
Her father sighs. "Arya, stop teasing your sister."  
  
"Oh, come on, Sansa," she says. "Are you honestly serious? How can you love him? He doesn't love you." Sansa looks like she might explode. "I mean," Arya continues, "it's physically impossible for the guy to love anyone more than he loves himself." She bumps fists with Rickon.  
  
Sansa stares at her for a long moment. "And what do _you_ know about love, Arya?"  
  
"That's enough, girls," her mother cuts in. "I don't care to listen to you two shout at each other."  
  
But Arya stares at her sister, and she sits up in her seat. "I know that you spend half your time thinking about ways to impress Harry, and — and, okay, you want to know what I know about love? I know that when somebody loves you, you can tell him every stupid thought in your head, and he still loves you. But that's not how Harry treats you, because he's too cool to be decent."  
  
"That doesn't even make sense, Arya," Sansa says.  
  
Arya shrugs. "It does, but you don't want to admit I'm right."  
  
Sansa grits her teeth, looking at their mother. "May I please be excused?"  
  
Arya rolls her eyes as her sister stomps off.  
  
\---  
  
She puts her final application to university in the mail on the first Saturday in November.  
  
Her mother asks the cook to make a big, special dinner for Arya in celebration. Arya is excited about it; she _loves_ the pot roast that the family cook makes. But the whole family ends up spending the evening at the hospital that night, eating cold Chinese take away, because that's their life.  
  
She joins the dance team at school. A friend from the summer play is in it, and she recruits Arya the moment she finds out that Arya used to dance in primary school. It's actually pretty fun, and Arya shows off her new moves to Gendry in his flat. He shags her on the kitchen counter after.  
  
The term draws to an end, and winter break starts.  
  
Arya spends the first day of freedom with Gendry. She rings her parents to tell them that she wants to spend the night with Shireen, stays at the pub with Gendry until closing, and spends the night at his flat. She should probably buy Shireen something really nice for Christmas.  
  
She can't imagine how she would've managed to meet Gendry, let alone be with him, without her.  
  
Of course, Shireen is about to visit with family friends for the rest of break, which means Arya can't use her as an excuse. But maybe she can make up some random girl to tell her parents about.  
  
It won't be hard, she tells Gendry.  
  
Her mother is crying when Arya arrives home from his flat the next morning, and Arya panics for a moment. "What's the matter?" she asks, terrified. She can't breathe. "What happened? Is it Bran?"  
  
Her mother stares at her for a long, terrible moment.  
  
"No," her father says, hand on her mother's shoulder. His smile is tight. "Bran is fine."  
  
Arya waits for more, but her parents don’t say anything. "Okay, um, I'm gonna take a shower."  
  
Her father nods, and Arya leaves them to be weird.  
  
\---  
  
"My right ankle," she says. "That's definitely decided."  
  
He grabs her leg and pulls her foot into his lap. "Where?" he says.  
  
She leans forward on the couch and taps the spot. "So. Mr. Expert. What do you think?"  
  
"Seems like a good spot," he says. "What're you gonna get?"  
  
She makes a face. "That's the part that _isn't_ decided," she says. "I keep changing my mind. I have a while to decide, though." She sighs. "I mean, there's no way my parents would let me get a tattoo, so I have to wait until I'm eighteen." She flops back onto the couch, head lolling on the arm. "It sucks."  
  
"Yeah, your life is so hard," he teases.  
  
She kicks him, making him let out an "oomph."  
  
"A little foot," he says, "with cute little toes — you just make everything vicious, don't you?"  
  
She scoffs. "How are my toes _cute_?" she asks, wiggling them at him.  
  
"They're like little sausages," he replies, tugging on her toes. He smirks. "It's cute."  
  
She tries to kick him again, but he catches her foot this time, clucking his tongue at her, and he starts to grin. A moment later, he ghosts his fingers over the arch of her foot, _tickling_ her, the bastard. She squeals, trying to free her foot from his grasp, but she can't breathe through laughter.  
  
She manages to tackle him, though, and they fall, laughing and wrestling, off the sofa.  
  
\---  
  
She shouts to her mum that she is off to see a movie with some friends, and she rushes to the car before her mother can ask any questions. The pub is surprisingly crowed for a Tuesday night, but Arya takes her usual seat at the bar, wrapping an arm around Gendry, and he turns towards her.  
  
He kisses her cheek.  
  
She is startled, but Tom hands her a drink. "Cheers."  
  
Hot Pie starts to rattle on about his dream, which involved dancing chocolate chip biscuits, and something is off with Gendry. He is in a _mood_ , and she asks him about it, but he shrugs her off.  
  
Whatever.  
  
"Another," she calls to Tom, sliding her empty glass down the bar to him.  
  
He nods and starts to pour it.  
  
"Why do you always get that cheap shit?" Hot Pie asks.  
  
Tom slides her the refilled glass. "Because it's cheap," she replies.  
  
"It's gross," Hot pie says.  
  
Arya takes a sip, gives herself a foam mustache, and smacks her lips. "I think it's delicious."  
  
"She must," Gendry says. "After all, she can afford the expensive stuff."  
  
Hot Pie and Tom look at each other, and Arya stares at Gendry. "What's your problem?" she asks.  
  
"Nothing," he grunts. "Just pointing it out." His voice is low, something _wrong_ in it. Arya frowns, but Gendry continues. "And I'm right, aren't I?" he asks. "I mean, you _could_ afford the most expensive drink. Hell, you could probably buy this whole fucking pub. Or your dad could, yeah?"  
  
She gapes at him. "Okay," she says, " _what_ is the matter with you?"  
  
"Nothing," he repeats, shrugging. "I'm fine." He chugs his beer. "All I'm saying is that it's weird to me that a posh girl like you actually wants to spend her nights drinking cheap beer in a cheap pub."  
  
She isn't going to listen to this. He's drunk.  
  
"I need a smoke," she says, jaw locked, and she grabs the pack from his jacket, storming outside.  
  
\---  
  
It takes him a little while before he follows her. She is on her third cigarette.  
  
"I'm not posh," Arya says, staring at the ground. "I'm not."  
  
Gendry leans against the wall. "Big house, rich dad, fancy schools. Makes you posh, Arya."  
  
She glares at him. "Don't talk about my life like you understand it," she snarls.  
  
"No, I wouldn't," he says. "I don't understand it, you're right, because _you_ never talk about it."  
  
She breathes in, holds it, breathes out. And she coughs. Angry, she stubs out the cigarette. "I don't want to talk about my life," she tells him. "It's my life, and it doesn't have anything to do with you."  
  
He's a in a mood, and _she_ isn't in the mood for it.  
  
"Are you for real?" he says. "Do you seriously think that? Arya, you're my _girlfriend_. And most people would say that means I'm allowed to care about your life. I'm allowed to want to be in it. Look, I don't care that you're rich, but, you know what, it's pretty clear you care that I'm _not_ rich."  
  
She stares, stunned at the sudden fury in his words, at the words themselves. "I've never cared about that — I _don't_ care about it," she says. "I don't." And how can he honestly think she would?  
  
"No, that's right," he says, and she recoils at his tone, "you must like it, right? I'm some loser who hangs out at his local every night, who never went to uni, who doesn't have a life, who your parents would fucking _hate_ , and you're more than happy to be the rebellious girl who fucks me."  
  
She shakes her head. "Don't be stupid," she snaps, hands curled into fists.  
  
"Sorry," he says. "Can't help it. It's what I am. I'm stupid, and I work in an auto shop, and you're gonna jet off to some fancy uni, and you're gonna do whatever you want, and travel wherever you want, and have anything you want. But, as for me, this is it. Look around, Arya. This is my life. It isn't yours. And the reason that you never talk about yours is because you know that your life, your _real_ life, your family and your school and your life, doesn't fit with this. With me. So fuck it."  
  
He holds up his hands.  
  
She barely understood his rant. "What's that supposed to mean?" she exclaims, furious.  
  
His smile isn't a smile. "It means exactly what I said."  
  
She gapes at him, and her fury starts to flicker into something else. "Are you finishing with me?"  
  
"Go home, Arya," he repeats, voice hard. He stalks towards the pub, ignoring her shouts. She grabs his arm, but he jerks away from her. "I'm done with you," he says coldly, and she feels as though he hit her, _really_ hit her. She stumbles away from him, and he disappears into the pub.  
  
And she is left staring at no one, furious and bewildered and fighting tears.  
  
\---  
  
She doesn't cry until she is home, alone, curled in her bed.  
  
The fury carries her to it. She can't believe he did that, finished with her as though she meant nothing, as though he didn't have to think about it, as though this was always how everything would end. She wishes she hadn't simply stood and watched, gaping, motionless. She wishes she had punched him or shoved him or kicked him or slapped him across the face. Made him feel like an absolute dick.  
  
But she didn't. She stood and watched him walk off.  
  
She didn't even have the courage to go into the pub after him. To face him.  
  
She crawls into the bed, furious, and she stares into the dark, and her eyes burn with tears. She rolls over, presses her face into her pillow, and screams until her throat hurts. But it doesn't help.  
  
It doesn't stop the tears, and she hates Gendry Waters. She fucking hates his fucking guts.  
  
\---  
  
She doesn't really know what to do with herself.  
  
Shireen is in Wales with her parents, and she won't return until winter break is finished. She can't distract herself with school, and her other friends are from the pub, are his friends, and she doesn't want anything to do with them. She stays in bed until noon, and she showers for over an hour.  
  
She throws out the lighter he bought her for her birthday. She doesn't want it. But, well, it's still a cool lighter. She fishes the stupid thing from the trash ten minutes later and shoves it into her desk.  
  
She eats everything she can find in the kitchen. She turns on the telly.  
  
She clicks it off. She doesn't want to watch television. What is she supposed to do?  
  
She could phone her old dance friends, she thinks. Her mobile starts vibrating at the thought.  
  
It's Jon, and her heart sinks. Did she expect Gendry to phone?  
  
She sneers at the phone, and she ignores the call. She isn't in the mood to talk with Jon.  
  
She looks outside. It's snowing, and she imagines for a moment that she could grab Bran, and they could brave the cold. They built the coolest forts when they were younger, and they used to thrash everyone else in snow ball fights; she grins when she remembers the time Bran managed to hit Theon right in the eye. And they used to build these spectacular snow wolves that were way cooler than snowmen. Arya starts to stand, ready to fetch Bran from upstairs, but she stops herself.  
  
It'll take forever to get him outside, and her mum will pitch a fit when she finds out.  
  
Arya slumps onto the sofa, and she watches the snowfall.  
  
\---  
  
He doesn't know anything about her. Gendry. He doesn't. She isn't posh.  
  
She doesn't want to marry some rich idiot like Sansa wants, and she doesn't want to work for her dad like Robb. She wants to travel around Europe without her parents, wants to stay in hostels and make friends with crazy strangers, wants to drag Gendry around with her. She had fucking plans.  
  
She doesn't know what she wants to do with her life, but it isn't anything like Gendry thinks.  
  
She hates him.  
  
\---  
  
It's his birthday, she realizes.  
  
She circled the date on her calendar. A week ago, she was excited for it. She bought him tickets to see this hair metal band in concert. She finds them in her desk, and she tears them to little pieces. A week ago, she was excited. A week ago, though, he finished with her outside the pub, and that's it.  
  
Someone knocks on the door. "What?" Arya snaps.  
  
"It's me," Sansa says, and she peaks her head in. "I'm making biscuits. Do you want to help?"  
  
Arya shakes her head. "I'll help eat them, though."  
  
To her surprise, Sansa smiles. She pushes the door open entirely, leans against the frame, and looks at Arya with soft eyes. "Don't shout at me," she says, "but, um, are you okay, Arya? It's only that — you've been weird. Not talking, not going out, not acting like yourself. Are you alright?"  
  
"I'm fine," Arya says.  
  
Sansa doesn't seem to believe her. "Are you sure?"  
  
Arya stares at her, and she can't help it. "No," she admits. "Some stuff's happened."  
  
Why shouldn't she talk to her sister about it? Isn't that what sisters do?  
  
"Some stuff?" Sansa repeats, stepping into the room.  
  
Arya nods, and Sansa sits beside her on the bed. "I was, um, seeing this guy. And we split up."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Arya," Sansa says. "It's the worst, isn't it?"  
  
Arya looks away from her sister. She can't believe she is about to cry. "The whole thing was awful, Sansa. We've been together for _months_ , and he broke up with me like it was nothing. I was too stunned to do anything about it, and he — I can't — he turned out to be a _dick_ , and I'm —"  
  
Sansa touches her arm. "I'm sorry, Arya. Really."  
  
"Thanks," Arya says, wiping her eyes. "I've got an eyelash," she murmurs. "In my eye, I mean."  
  
Sansa nods, smiling softly. "Hey, look, this is good," she says. "No, really, it is. I can set you up with somebody! It won't be anybody lame, honest. It'll be someone cool. One of Harry's friends."  
  
"I'm gonna pass," Arya says, and Sansa starts to protest. But, well, something's off. Arya frowns at her sister, and the last minute plays over in her head. "Wait, Sansa, why weren't you surprised?"  
  
Sansa pauses, confused. "What?"  
  
"I told you that I've been dating somebody for months," Arya says, "and you weren't surprised."  
  
Sansa frown. "No, I was — I was surprised."  
  
"No, you weren't." Arya shakes her head. "And you didn't ask any questions, didn't ask his name, or where I met him, or why I hadn't told you about him. Nothing." She stands, stepping away from her sister. "Sansa, did you know that I was dating someone? Sansa, did you —" She understands.  
  
Sansa stands, too. "Arya," she starts.  
  
"Oh, my God," Arya says. "It wasn't completely random, was it? Him splitting up with me."  
  
"Arya, no, stop, listen to me —"  
  
Arya can't breathe. "It wasn't random. All that stuff he said — stuff about me not belonging, about the perfect life I would have — that's not from him. How did you find out? And who talked to Gendry? Who was it? Was it Dad? Or Robb? I can't believe this. I can't believe you guys did this."  
  
Sansa stares at her. "Arya, he works in an auto shop," she says.  
  
Arya shakes her head. "Oh, God."  
  
"He is twenty-one years old," Sansa continues, "covered in tattoos, no education, no future —"  
  
Arya pushes past her. She can't believe it.  
  
"Theon saw you with him at some seedy pub, Arya!" Sansa exclaims.  
  
Arya stalks from the room, but Sansa is hot on her heels.  
  
"Is that where you've spend the last eight months?" she asks, raving. "Hanging around some filthy pub with a twenty-one-year-old loser? Mum _cried_ when she found out! Dad didn't believe it. He _couldn't_. I mean, _God_ , Arya, did you think about how this would make Mum and Dad feel? And, you know, Jon _swore_ that you wouldn't date this guy, but Robb found out that he worked at —"  
  
Arya can't listen to this, she can't. Her entire family was in on it.  
  
And they never intended to tell her. They intended to have Gendry be the jerk that split up with her, who abruptly tore her heart to shreds. They intended to keep everything secret, to have Gendry take the fall, _Gendry_ , her stupid, stubborn boy, and they treated him like he was nothing, like —  
  
"He is _not_ a loser," she snarls.  
  
She flies down the stairs, making for the door, swiping angrily at her tears.  
  
"Arya, what's the matter?" her mother exclaims, startled.  
  
Arya whirls around. "Who was it? It was Robb, wasn't it? Or was it Dad? Tell me."  
  
Her mother gapes. "I don't know what —"  
  
"Who cornered my boyfriend?" Arya shouts. "Who made him split up with me? Tell me, Mum."  
  
And her mother sighs. "Arya, I need you to calm down. I can't talk to you when you're screaming at me." She pauses. "I understand that you're upset, but that boy that you were seeing wasn't —"  
  
"That boy," Arya snarls, "is my _best friend_ , and my entire family treated him like shit!"  
  
"It isn't like that," Sansa says. "Arya, we only wanted —"  
  
Arya tears open the front door.  
  
"Don't walk out that door, young lady," her mother warns. "I'm sorry that we didn't talk to you. I'm sorry that you think we wanted to hurt you. That was _not_ our intention. Robb suggested, and I agreed, that talking to the boy would make everything easier for you. I understand that you feel —"  
  
Arya is out the door. Her mother tries to stop her, but Arya jerks away from her hand.  
  
"Don't," she breathes. "Don't touch me. I hate you. I _hate_ you! All of you!"  
  
Her mother stares, eyes wide with shock. "Arya Stark," she breathes, "do not talk to me like —"  
  
"Mum."  
  
And her mother looks up to where Bran stands on the stairs. "One minute, sweetheart."  
  
"It hurts to pee, Mum," Bran says, and Arya takes what she can get. She slams the door shut behind her, and no one opens it, no one chases her as she sprints across the front yard to the car.  
  
\---  
  
Her hands are trembling too much to drive, and she swerves off the road.  
  
She presses her head into her hands for a moment, and she fumbles for her mobile. It's blinking with a missed call from home. She ignores it, and she dials Gendry. He doesn't answer, of course.  
  
She texts him. _I'm in trouble, and I can't drive, and I need you to come pick me up_. She stares at the mobile, waiting, impatient, swiping furiously at tears. He doesn't need to respond. She can drive to his flat. A new message appears, and her breath catches. It's from Jon, saying that Sansa called, and he wants to talk. She texts him. _Go fuck yourself_. And she tosses the mobile aside.  
  
She blinks, and the stupid thing beeps with another message. She stares at it, and she grabs it.  
  
One new message from Gendry. _Where are you?_ She closes her eyes, smiling, crying, clutching the phone to her chest. She texts him the street. It's the middle of nowhere. He texts her to _sit tight_.  
  
\---  
  
She waits outside the car, sitting against the side, kneels drawn to her chest, hidden from the street.  
  
A car pulls up behind hers, and the engine cuts off. A door slams. "Arya." He sound panicked.  
  
"I'm taking in the view," she calls. He walks around the car, and she stares at the forest that lines the road. "Thanks for coming," she murmurs. She looks at her nails. "I found out what happened."  
  
He sinks down beside her, careful not to touch her, and she clenches her jaw. He doesn't speak.  
  
She looks at him. "I told my sister I was dating this guy, and we split up. She wasn't surprised, and it came out. What happened. I can't believe — whatever they said to you, Gendry, my brother or my dad or — it isn't true. It's not, and I'm sorry that they — I hate them for this, okay? I hate —"  
  
"Don't," he says. "They were right. Everything your brother told me. He was right." He sighs.  
  
"No, he wasn't!"  
  
His smile is grim. "I'm not good enough for you. I'm not. And I'm never gonna be the guy that is."  
  
She shoves him. "Stop," she says. "Just _stop_ , okay? They put these words into your mouth —"  
  
"It's not like I wasn't already thinking it," Gendry cuts in, angry. "Arya, where you come from, who you parents are, all that stuff, it matters, okay? It matters, and you belong with some guy like your dad, or your brothers, somebody who _is_ somebody, who's worth something, some guy —"  
  
"Stop," Arya snarls, smacking him across the chest. "I don't _belong_ with anybody, but you're _my_ guy, and that's what matters. And my stupid family, and everybody — they can fuck off, alright?"  
  
He runs his hands through his hair. "It doesn't work like that!" he exclaims.  
  
"Why not?" she cries.  
  
His jaw clenches as he stares at her. "Money _matters_ , Arya. _Class_ matters."  
  
"It doesn't," she insists. "It's not like — I mean, God, this isn't the fucking middle ages, Gendry!"  
  
"What about next year, Arya?" he challenges. "What about when you leave for university?"  
  
She blinks. "What about it?" she says. "Robb dated his wife throughout uni, and they weren't at the same school. Gendry, I — I can say any stupid thought to you, do you get what I mean? And I don't care about — about the stupid stuff my family cares about. I never talked about my family because — not because I didn't want you in my life, but because I was ashamed about it, about — I thought you would treat me differently. I was scared. But, Gendry, I'm — I'm in love with you."  
  
She doesn't mean to say it. But she means it. The words.  
  
He gapes at her for a moment, and she repeats it. "I'm in love with you."

"I can't be with you when your family hates me," he murmurs softly, sadly. "When they want better for you. And you'll come around to their thinking at some point."  
  
"No," she says. "I won't. And, okay, this isn't about who I'm gonna marry, or spend my whole life with, or — do you know, I don't really _want_ to get married? Or have kids. I don't want the life that my sister wants. I'm seventeen, and I'm in love you, and I want to be with you, and that's it, okay?"  
  
He isn't swayed, she can see it. She wants to kill her family. Her parents. Her sister. Her brothers.  
  
No, not her brothers. Not all of them.  
  
She bites his lip. "And, you know, my whole family doesn't hate you. I think Bran is on my side."  
  
He frowns. "Who's Bran?"  
  
"My little brother," she says. "He's not really little, though. He's only a year younger than me."  
  
"I thought your little brother was named Rickon," Gendry says.  
  
Arya looks at her knees. "I have two younger brothers, actually. Rickon is one; Bran is the other. I was fighting with my mum, trying to leave to come see you, but she wouldn't let me, and Bran distracted her. I think it was on purpose. I don't know." She smiles. "But I bet he would like you."  
  
She picks at a scab on her calf.  
  
"How come you never talk about him?" Gendry asks, voice soft. "I mean, you've at least mentioned everybody else." He tries to catch her eye, but she doesn't let him. She scoffs her shoe.  
  
She swallows thickly, and she says it.  
  
"I don't really talk about him," she says, "'cause he's kinda dying."  
  
Gendry doesn't say anything.  
  
"He was diagnosed with leukemia when he was ten," she says. "And he recovered, but, um, well, I guess you don't really recover from cancer. It's been really bad the last year, and — and the prognosis isn't good. God, I hate words like that. Prognosis. It sounds so fucking scary and bad."  
  
She picks at her chipping nail polish.  
  
"I got used to it," she says, "mainly 'cause I didn't think about it. I mean, I got used to my brother being sick, but I never really got used to the fact that he might die, and now that it's — now that it's happening, I can't deal with it. I don't know how." Her eyes burn with tears, but she refuses to cry.  
  
She hates to talk about this stuff. She hates to think about it.  
  
"Robb is married," she says. "My oldest brother. He's married, and his wife is pregnant, and he's really happy, but he got to escape, you know? He went off to uni only a few months after Bran got sick. And he never really comes around. And Jon's in the army, so he isn't ever really around either. And Sansa, oh, Sansa is this perfect child who is super smart and super pretty and is gonna go to this super wonderful uni and marry some super wonderful guy and be super happy."  
  
She looks at Gendry. "It's the only thing my mum ever says to me. Be more like your sister, she says. Sansa never causes me trouble. Why can't you get grades like your sister? Be more like her. And that's when she bothers to remember me. And Rickon is getting into all sorts of trouble, fighting with kids and failing classes, and I guess he's just really neglected, but it makes my parents pay attention to him. And it's not like I need them to pay attention to me, but I'm just — I'm angry."  
  
The words pour out, jumbled and messy and tearful, but she is shaking with the need to explain.  
  
"But I can't be angry," she rants. "I can't be angry that Robb is happily married, and I can't be angry that Jon gets to explore the world. I can't. And I can't be angry that my sister likes school and likes society parties. I can't be angry that my parents pay more attention to my dying brother, right? And I can't be angry that he's dying, but he is. Bran is dying, and I can't do anything about it. I can't."  
  
She presses her lips together, and tries to swallow her tears, but it isn't working. She can't do it.  
  
Gendry touches her face, and his thumb catches her tears. She shakes her head, but he murmurs her name, reaches for her, his eyes soft. And she can't. She _can't_. She shoves him, tears her arm from his grasp, and pushes herself to her feet. "My brother is dying, and I can't do fuck all about it," she says. "And he would _love_ you, Gendry. The rest of my family is shit, but Bran, he —"  
  
She clenches her teeth, choking on the sob, hands balled into fists.  
  
He stands, and she folds. His arms are warm around her.  
  
She hiccoughs, trying to make herself breathe through the tears, and she presses her face into his shirt, smells him, Gendry, soap and boy and _Gendry_. Her stupid boy. She swipes at her tears, and Gendry litters feathery kisses across her face, on her cheek, her forehead, under her eye, her nose.  
  
"I'm sorry," she says, sniffing, "I'm sorry I'm — I'm crying all over you."  
  
She needs to get it together.  
  
"Don't be," he says. "I'm not." His eyes are soft.  
  
She bites her lip. "We're not split up anymore, okay?" she says. "We're not."  
  
"Arya, look —"  
  
She shakes her head. "It was a stupid idea, okay? Really fucking stupid. But I forgive you."  
  
He runs his hand through his hair. "Arya, you can do better than me. Robb is right."  
  
She glares at him. "Don't tell me what to do."  
  
And, probably despite himself, he smiles.  
  
"I'm in love with you," she says. "I'm in love you, Gendry," she repeats, insistent.  
  
He looks pained. "Arya, we _can't_ ," he whispers.  
  
She curls her hands into his shirt and drags his head towards hers. "Arya, you can't just kiss me to make me —" She kisses him, swallowing his words, and she bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. She pulls away, and she stares up at him. "Fine," he mutters, drawing her into another kiss.  
  
She presses her nose into his cheek. "Good."  
  
"Hey," he murmurs, "I love you, too, yeah?"  
  
She wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him. "I know," she whispers.  
  
\---  
  
They drive to his flat.  
  
She can't handle home, and she isn't up for the pub, either. They can order pizza at his flat, he says, and she agrees. And she smiles to herself in his messy flat when she sees the blueberry beer in the fridge; Gendry buys the stuff special for her. He orders pizza, and she starts to flip through the channels on the telly. "Wait," she exclaims, twisting around, "it's your birthday!" She can't believe she almost forgot. He smiles, nodding, and she remembers the tickets that she tore to little pieces.  
  
"What's that look?" he asks, coming to sit beside her on the sofa.  
  
She shakes her head. "I might have maybe destroyed your present this morning," she says.  
  
"Don't worry about it," he says. He looks amused.  
  
Her mobile starts to ring. Another call from home to accompany the texts from Jon and from Robb.  
  
She isn't interested, and she turns the phone off. "Talk to them," Gendry says. "They're worried."  
  
"Don't tell me what to do," she snaps. "I can't believe they really did it, Gendry. I can't believe they tried to make you split up with me, and I'm not about to forgive them for it. Don't try to make me."  
  
He holds up his hands. "Hey, hey, calm down. I won't. Scout's honor."  
  
And she sees it. She catches his arm, and she looks at his wrist.  
  
A new tattoo. A wolf's head. "It's for me, isn't it?" she says, running her thumb over the fresh tat.  
  
"Nope," he says. "I saw a documentary on the telly about wolves. Made them look cool."  
  
She shoves him. "Wanker."  
  
But she doesn't release his wrist, stares at it, can't _stop_ staring at it. He loves her. He said it, but —  
  
He loves her.  
  
She leans over to kiss him, holding his face in her hands and pulling his tongue between her teeth to suck gently. His arms wind around her, gathering her against him. She is startled when he starts to stand, but he pulls her with him, and she wraps her legs around his waist, pressing kisses to his throat as he carries her to the bed. She is frenzied in her efforts to tear off his clothing, but he catches her hands, holds them as he kisses her slowly, his eyes dark, intent on hers. He starts to remove her clothes with unusual care, kissing the skin that he uncovers as he undresses her.  
  
He loves her, and she loves him.  
  
She feels addicted.  
  
He is a drug, she thinks, the kind her mother warned her against. A habit you can't shake off.  
  
He doesn't take his eyes off hers the entire time he moves inside her. She finds his hand when she feels herself start to come, and she bites his wrist, bites the tattoo, leaving a mark as she melts into the mattress. She soothes the bite with her tongue when he finishes moments later, coming inside her.  
  
His hands slip around her, and he rolls over, taking her with him, pulling her to rest on top of him.  
  
He stays inside her, stroking her arm, dulled nulls drawing goosebumps from her skin.  
  
And she thinks about the hours they've spent in his bed, lying beside each other, naked under the sheets, his hands warm as he simply touched her, as he ghosted his hands over her knees and her hips and her breasts, as he traced the freckles on the inside of her arm, as he pet her spine, as he tapped fingers against her stomach; he loves to touch her like that, simply, intimately, learning her.  
  
It's as though he wants to memorize her.  
  
She looks at the teeth marks she left on his tattoo, and she smiles.  
  
He can memorize her, and she will mark him.  
  
The pizza arrives a few minutes later, and Arya lets Gendry put on clothes to answer the door.  
  
He isn't allowed to return to the bed with the pizza, though, until he strips off the clothes.  
  
\---  
  
His mobile goes off, and he doesn't recognize the number. He hands her the phone.  
  
"It's Sansa's mobile," she says, frowning. "How did she get your number?"  
  
He shakes his head. "Does Shireen have it?"  
  
"No, I don't think so," Arya says. "But she has Hot Pie's number. He put it in her phone. Sansa must've called Shireen, and Shireen must've called Hot Pie, and he must've given her the number."  
  
The phone stops vibrating. One missed call.  
  
"Seems like they're pretty desperate to talk to you," Gendry says.  
  
She shrugs. "I don't care. I don't want to talk to them."  
  
"Arya, you have to talk to them," he insists softly. "They must be worried about you." He takes her hand, intertwining their fingers. "I won't be chased off, yeah? But you need to talk to your family."  
  
Reluctantly, she agrees.  
  
\---  
  
Her mother opens the front door as soon as Arya pulls into the driveway. Great.  
  
"We were worried," her mum says, opening the door further for Arya.  
  
Arya nods, but she refuses to look her mother in the eye. Her mother touches her on the shoulder, and Arya steps away from the touch, crossing her arms over her chest. Her mother sighs. "Come into the living room," she says, and Arya follows her. They're waiting, her family. Her father, sitting with a wary look on his face, her sister, tapping her foot on the ground, impatient, anxious, Robb, in town for Christmas, his heavily pregnant wife sitting beside him, her arm around his shoulders. She offers a small smile. Arya pretends not to see. Jon is standing next to the window.  
  
He must've arrived that very day to celebrate Christmas with the family.  
  
She refuses to look at him as she slumps into the chair closest to the door.  
  
"Where were you?" Robb asks. "We were worried."  
  
"Mum said," she replies, annoyed. She was gone for about four hours. "I was with my boyfriend."  
  
Robb sighs heavily, and Arya glares.  
  
"Arya, we're not trying to be cruel to you," Jon says, something desperate in his voice.  
  
Her heart squeezes, but she swallows the guilt. "And you didn't think it was cruel to bully my boyfriend into splitting up with me?" she asks, and she looks right at Robb. It was Robb. He did it.  
  
"I didn't bully him, Arya," Robb says. "I talked with him. That's it."  
  
"And convinced him to split up with me," she says, "and not to tell my why."  
  
Sansa breaks in. "We thought that would be _easier_ for you, Arya!"  
  
"No," Arya says, "it would be easier for _you_. Don't deny it. But, you know what, it was a wasted effort, because I talked to Gendry. I made him admit what had happened, and I made him see reason. We're together, and we're not about to split up, no matter what you people think or want."  
  
"Arya," her mother says, frowning. "Are we really _you people_ to you?"  
  
Arya shrugs. "After what you did, I would say so."  
  
"Enough," her father says. "Arya, you're right. We were wrong to do what we did. We didn't intend to be cruel, but we were wrong. It was a mistake, and I'm sorry for it. _We_ 're sorry for it. But I'm afraid that you cannot see this boy. I can't let you. I don't want to hurt you, but it's for the best."  
  
His voice is softy and steady, loving and kind, but she shakes her head at him.  
  
"I can see whomever I want," she insists. She won't let them cow her.  
  
"Actually," her mother says, "you can't. No matter how old you feel, you are still seventeen years old, Arya. A child. A minor." She pauses, as though to emphasize her point. "And Gendry is twenty-one years old. A relationship with him, _seeing_ him, it could have very bad consequences."  
  
Arya stares at her mother. "Are you serious? Are you saying what I think?"  
  
"Arya," her father murmurs, tired.  
  
"I would never forgive you for it," Arya breathes, "you have to know that. Don't. Don't you dare."  
  
Her mother takes a deep breath. "We'll do what we need to do."  
  
"No, you can't," Arya says, moving to her feet. "He is my best friend, and he is — I don't ask for anything from you. Nothing. I don't _expect_ anything from you. I don't ask to travel cool places during break like Shireen, I don't complain when you miss my play, when you forget to pick me up from school, when you forget _me_. I don't whine when you make me do things I don't like, when you stuff me in dresses for stupid society balls, when you sign me up for stuff I don't like."  
  
Her eyes flicker between her parents. Her mother looks as though someone knocked the breath from her, and her father looks old. And small. He looks small. Arya waits until he meets her eye.  
  
"But I'm asking you for _this_. For him. He is the only person who — who _likes_ me."  
  
Jon shakes his head. "Arya, how can you say that?"  
  
"No, you don't understand. _Me_. Exactly the way I am. He never expects me to be somebody else, never wants me to do things I don't want to do, never — never treats me like I could somehow improve, or be a different, better person. He likes _me_. He _loves_ me. Don't take that away. Don't."  
  
She looks at Robb, at Jon, at Sansa. "Do you tell him all your stupid thoughts?" Sansa asks, her eyes soft, and Arya nods, because that's it. That's exactly it, and Sansa starts to smile. "I'm glad."  
  
Sansa is on her side. Just like that. Her sister, the romantic.  
  
Arya doesn't know whether to laugh or to roll her eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry that we've made you feel that way," Robb says, "feel that we — we expect you to be someone you're not. But trust me when I tell you that Gendry Waters isn't good enough for you."  
  
She stares at him. "Why not? Because he didn't attend university? Because his parents aren't rich?"  
  
"Arya, those things matter in the real world," Robb says, terse.  
  
She isn't going to listen to this. "Don't you get that telling me that, telling me I can't be with him, because I need to be with someone like — like Harry the Heir, someone who fits in at dinner parties and plans to work for his father and make bank, someone who wants a housewife and four kids — that's asking me to be someone I'm not." How can he not see that? She looks at Jon.  
  
He didn't attend university, did he? And he was born from a one-night stand a few weeks before Arya's father met her mother. He was dropped off on her father's doorstep a week after her mother accepted his proposal, because his own mother didn't want him. But Jon is an amazing brother.  
  
Because that crap — it _doesn't_ matter, not unless you let it.  
  
"Arya, we can't let you see the boy," her mother says. "It isn't a discussion. I'm sorry."  
  
She shakes her head.  
  
"That's bullshit." Bran is standing in the doorway, jaw clenched.  
  
"Bran!" her mother exclaims. "What are you —?"  
  
"I can _walk_ , Mum," he says, face sour. "I'm not dead yet."  
  
No one says anything; no one seems able to make jokes about his dying the way that he can.  
  
"And as long as the family is making life decision for Arya," he continues, "I think I should have a say, and my say is that _you people_ are mental. What is awful about the guy? So he's old. Okay. A little creepy, but whatever. Arya likes him, and she isn't stupid. She wouldn't be with some guy that treated her crappy. And, you know what, I haven't seen Arya smile like a dopey idiot in my entire life, but she came really bloody close the first time she told me that she met this guy. So he didn't attend university — news flash: neither did Jon. And, last time I checked, I was pretty sure we still loved him."  
  
Robb sighs. "It's different, Bran."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Jeyne pipes up. "Marriages between different classes are really hard to maintain, Bran," she says.  
  
"Marriage?" Bran exclaims. "Arya is seventeen! Who's talking about _marriage_? This is about letting her hang out a guy that makes her happy. I mean, she has her entire life ahead of her for marriage. And, as someone who _doesn't_ have his whole life ahead of him, I can tell you that she shouldn't have to worry about marriage right now. She should be able to live in the moment."  
  
He looks around the room, and no one says a word.  
  
"That's right," he adds. "I played the _I'm fucking dying of cancer_ card. And now I have to pee, 'cause I always have to pee. I'm like a pregnant lady." He turns on his heel, leaving the living room.  
  
Arya looks around at her silent family for a moment, and she chases after Bran.  
  
\---  
  
"Thanks," she says, catching him on the stairs.  
  
He nods. "Don't worry about it." They reach the second landing. "Hey, um, that stuff you said about how Gendry liked you for who you are. This sounds totally lame, but, um, I like you, too."  
  
She bites her lip. "I don't know why," she says. "I've been a pretty shitty sister lately."  
  
"It's cool," he says, shrugging. "I'm dying. It's freaky. I get it. But you can make it up to me."  
  
"How's that?" she asks.  
  
He glances down the stairs. No one is there. "The guy."  
  
"Gendry," she says, uncertain.  
  
He nods. "Gendry. I heard Sansa say that you met him at some seedy pub."  
  
"I did. It's not _that_ seedy, but Sansa would say it was, yeah."  
  
He starts to smile. "Think you can help me sneak past our doting mum and my nurse?" he asks. "I could use a night at a seedy pub. Hopefully the bald head and the pasty skin won't scare the girls."  
  
"Mmm, I think I might be able to arrange something," she says.  
  
He holds out his fist for her to bump. "Cheers."  
  
\---  
  
Someone knocks on her bedroom door. "What?" she calls, finishing the text to Gendry.  
  
She isn't really in the mood to talk to her mother or to Sansa or to —  
  
"It's your father," her dad says. "May I come in?"  
  
She stares at the door. "Fine. Whatever."  
  
He closes the door quietly behind him as he comes in, and he stares at her. She sits up in bed, and he crosses the room to sit in her desk chair. "We haven't talked in a long time, have we?" he asks.  
  
"Nope, not really," she says.  
  
He nods. "It's probably my fault. I'm sorry for that. And I'm sorry for . . . for this whole mess. But is it really — is it really impossible for you to imagine why you dating this boy is hard for me? I've never met him, but he is twenty-one-years old, a young man, who spends his night at a pub and lives in his own flat." His smile is sad. "And you're my baby. My little girl. It's hard for me to. . . ."  
  
"I'm not a little girl, Dad. I'm seventeen. And maybe that's super young to you, but —"  
  
He sighs, nodding. "But you're not a little girl, I know. You grew up. And I feel like I missed it."  
  
"Gendry's really great, Dad. Better than Harry, I promise you."  
  
He chuckles, but "don't tell your sister that I just laughed," he says.  
  
She grins. "I make no promises."  
  
"Okay," he says. "Here's the deal. Invite Gendry to dinner. Here. At our house."  
  
"So you can bully him into splitting up with me?" she asks, hackles rising.  
  
"No," her father says. "So I can _meet_ him. I haven't yet, you know. And if he has the courage to come to this house, to dress nicely, to act politely, to look me in the eye and to tell me that he wants to see my daughter — if he has the courage to do that, to come to this house and to prove that he loves you as much as you say that he does, I will give you my blessing. So. What do you think?"  
  
She holds out her hand. "Deal." They shake on it.  
  
\---  
  
She buys Gendry the tie as a birthday present, and she looks up instructions on the internet.  
  
It takes them about ten minutes, but they manage to do it. He looks good, dressed in a suit, wearing dressy shoes that he borrowed from Tom, his shirt crisply ironed with his cheap, funny-smelling iron, and the tie around his neck. He hasn't smoked in two days, he says, because he doesn't want to smell like smoke. She is impressed. "I should quit," he says. "I bet your dad would like that."  
  
She takes a whiff. He doesn't smell like smoke. Nice.  
  
"Don't quit," she says. "I can't steal cigarettes from a guy who doesn't smoke."  
  
\---  
  
His hands must be clammy. He keeps wiping them on his trousers. He looks at her house.  
  
And he wipes his hands on his trousers. She grabs his right hand. "Relax."  
  
"Any last minute advice?" he asks.  
  
"Nope. Just be yourself." She squeezes his hand. "I like you the way you are."  
  
He nods. "Sure. But try to be helpful, okay?"  
  
She frowns as they start towards the house. "You say that like you think I'm gonna be _unhelpful_."  
  
\---  
  
Sansa asks him what movies he likes, and he nervously lists several horror films.  
  
"Arya loves horror films, too," Sansa points out, nodding as though Gendry is passing the test. "I, personally, do _not_ enjoy being scared senseless when I watch movies. I prefer romantic comedies."  
  
Gendry nods. "They're not bad. Over the summer I saw, um, _Ten Things I Hate About You_. The one with Heath Ledger? And Jack Gordon-Levitt, I think. It was pretty good. I mean, I liked it."  
  
"It's Joseph Gordon-Levitt," Sansa corrects.  
  
"Why were you watching some chick flick?" Rickon asks.  
  
Arya leaps into the conversation.  
  
"I wanted to watch it," she says. "I watched _She's the Man_ as research for my play — it's based off the play that I was in this summer — and it was good, and a girl in my play recommended another movie based on a Shakespeare play. Gendry actually borrowed it from Hot Pie for us to watch."  
  
"That's sweet," Sansa says, smiling at Gendry. He is _totally_ passing her test.  
  
"I'm still sorry we were never able to see your play," her mother says.  
  
"It was really good," Gendry says. "Arya stole the show with her, um, _improvisational_ choices."  
  
She elbows him, and he grins into his plate.  
  
"Did you see the play?" her mother asks him.  
  
He nods. "It was good," he repeats.  
  
"And he brought me flowers," Arya says. "They were pink, but nobody's perfect."  
  
Jon snorts into his water, but her mother smiles. It was a good idea, the dinner. Her whole family is behaving, and they're being nice to Gendry, liking him, accepting him. She loves it. She can forgive her family for being stupid, for what they did, as long as this keeps up. She'll need Robb to apologize to Gendry, and she'll need to make sure Gendry isn't allowed to doubt himself again. But it's gonna work.  
  
Their relationship, her family, it's gonna work.  
  
"So, Gendry," Jeyne says, "Arya says you like the Rolling Stones. I'm a fan myself."  
  
\---  
  
Her father takes Gendry into his study.  
  
Arya starts to freak out after ten minutes. "He is _really_ fit," Sansa whispers, and Arya snaps her head to her sister. Sansa is grinning at her, and Arya forces herself to relax. "And those eyes —"  
  
Arya giggles with her sister. It's a first.  
  
A few minutes later, Gendry emerges from the study. Alive.  
  
"Come on," he says.  
  
She stands. "Where are we going?"  
  
"The pub," he says. "Don't worry, you'll be home before midnight." He smiles, and that's it.  
  
Approval won.  
   
\---  
  
Her mother protests, but Jon and Robb are on his side, and he's been doing really well lately, so Bran wins the argument.  
  
He is allowed to go out to the pub with Gendry and Arya. It seems strange, Bran out in the world. He's been stuck in the house for so long. Arya feels worse than ever for a moment, thinking about it. But she'll make up for it. This is just the start. She'll make up for it. She'll be the sister that he deserves for as long as she can, no matter what.  
  
"Okay," Arya says, buckling her seatbelt, "tell me everything my dad said."  
  
Gendry shrugs. "We mostly talked about what a special young lady you are, and how you deserved to be treated like a princess. And he, um, he apologized for misjudging me at first." He clears his throat. "Also, fun fact, your pet husky is apparently trained to kill."  
  
Bran snorts.  
  
"Anyway, thanks for your help at dinner, Captain," Gendry says.  
  
She frowns. "Captain?"  
  
"That's right." He nods. "Captain of the S.S. Defend Gendry From Any Possible Attacks."  
  
"Oh, well, you're welcome," she says, shifting to prop her feet on the dashboard. "Any time."  
  
\---  
  
The pub is dark and crowded, and Arya grins.  
  
"This is awesome," Bran breathes, looking around the place with bright eyes.  
  
Someone strung up cheap, colorful Christmas lights around the walls, and Arya can hear bad Christmas music over the drunken laughter. Tom is wearing a festive sweater that features a moose. "Classy sweater," she tells him. She slips onto her stool, Gendry slips onto his, and Arya introduces Bran to Tom, to Hot Pie, to everybody. "He'll take the cheapest lager," she says.  
  
Tom nods.  
  
Bran almost spits it out. "That tastes likes shit."  
  
"Enjoy the experience, baby brother," she says, patting his arm.  
  
He starts to talk with Hot Pie, and Gendry smiles at Arya. His eyes flicker to Bran. "He isn't watching," he says, and he slips his hand behind her head to draw her towards him, to kiss her. He tastes like the pudding her mum baked herself and the IPA that Tom handed him moments ago, and his mouth is warm and soft and familiar against hers. She hears someone holler about snogging.  
  
She flips off whoever it is.  
  
**fin.**  
  
\---  
  
_Spin you round through the roar of this crowd tonight, tonight,  
Dance you round through the bones of this town until daylight comes,  
Hope, hope will put the colors in the sky,  
Hope, hope will set this world of wrong to right, to right,  
Love comes tumbling down._


End file.
